


5 Times Gerry Keay Met Michael Shelley, and the 1 Time He Didn't

by Ten_of_Swords



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, it ends badly i am so sorry, the body horror has nothing to do with gerry and michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23765569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ten_of_Swords/pseuds/Ten_of_Swords
Summary: The first time Gerry met Michael, it was an accident.The second time Gerry met Michael, it was on purpose.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	5 Times Gerry Keay Met Michael Shelley, and the 1 Time He Didn't

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is a completely self indulgent What If They Knew Each Other fic. It jumps straight to the cut, so enjoy! Timeline in the notes at the end!
> 
> Beta'ed by caimani and ruffgrl on tumblr! Show them some love.

The first time Gerry met Michael, it was an accident. 

He avoided sticking to one particular coffee shop, as he didn’t want to be tied down to anything, and routine and recognition were two of the last things he wanted. He had made a life for himself after his mother’s trial, hunting down the books that his mother nigh worshiped, and destroying them. If he remained in one place too long, someone or something would catch up with him and probably rip his throat out. 

He had just gotten back from some backwoods town in the North, hunting down some book. It had been a bust, but he had made some people a bit angry. Maybe “a bit” was an understatement. It was a lonely life, but Gerry was okay with that, if it kept him away from his undead mother.

Walking into the little cafe, he was greeted by the scent of freshly ground coffee— not premade, which was a lovely change of pace. There were large bay windows that let sunlight filter into the cafe, onto the mismatched tables and chairs. He scanned the menu above the register with just a quick glance before stepping into line behind a man with shoulder length, light-blond, curly hair. The man was at least a good twenty, if not twenty-five, centimeters taller than himself, and was wearing what Gerry could only describe as the nerdiest outfit he had ever seen. 

The tall man stepped up and had a quick chat with the barista, which was only slightly annoying, before ordering two coffees— one black, one with light milk. Gerry watched curiously as the man got out his wallet to pay, and pulled out some change, counting it on the counter. The man turned around, and Gerry finally got a good look at his face. He had sharp features, deep blue eyes with just a hint of green, and his cheeks had just a touch of rosy color from the brisk air outside.To say he was only good looking would be a disservice.

“I said, I’m short 5p. Could I bother you for some change?” the man repeated, and Gerry realized he had been staring.

“Ah, shit, yeah.” Gerry fished around in his jacket pocket for a coin, and pulled one out, pressing it into the man’s hand. It was warm and soft, and Gerry’s heart was melting.

“Thank you,” the man said with a tilted smile that fit his face perfectly, and turned back to face the barista, paying, grabbing his coffees, and walking out of the shop. 

It was only after Gerry had been sat drinking his coffee did he register the badge clipped to the man’s coat pocket that had read, “The Magnus Institute”.

* * *

The second time Gerry met Michael, it was on purpose.

Gerry was not a stranger to the supernatural, and certainly not a stranger to The Magnus Institute. His mother had made him quite aware of it as a child, making sure that he knew it was a horrible place where power went to die. Gerry didn’t subscribe to his mother’s weird theology, but he knew that it mostly consisted of book worms and fuddy-duddies who didn’t like to get their hands dirty. That was not Gerry’s style, and it never would be. He was content being on the run, and was more than happy getting his hands dirty. It was just the way he was, and he wasn’t going to go and compromise that for some boy.

Even if he was a very pretty boy.

Even so, what would it hurt if he returned to that coffee shop one more time, just to see? Just to get one more look? He could have been imagining the badge, a trick of the mind or paranoia due to lack of sleep. God knows he had plenty of those moments. So, it was only natural to want and confirm his reality.  _ Yes _ . He thought.  _ That’s how I’ll rationalize it _ . 

So he showed up at the shop, much earlier than he had the other day, and much earlier than the Institute opened. He ordered a coffee, he sat, and he waited. 

Sure enough, the man came in, sporting a different nerdy outfit, but the same beautiful smile, and got in line to get coffee. If he noticed Gerry, he didn’t show it. He seemed to be too busy looking in his bag. From this angle, Gerry could get a better look at him. He first identified the badge, still clipped to his coat pocket, and it definitely said “The Magnus Institute” on it, with some smaller text that Gerry couldn’t quite read (assumedly his name) and a picture of the man, but with shorter hair. His clothing was neatly pressed, like a nerd, and he had reading glasses tucked into his shirt pocket. The man was wearing some pins on his sweater, and Gerry squinted to try and read them, but he’d been staring too long. The man turned to look at him, catching him in the act. The man recognized him and gave him a slight smile. Gerry politely, but nervously returned the smile, slightly embarrassed. As soon as the man looked away, Gerry began to pack up his things, carefully trying to keep his composure. When he felt a light tap on his shoulder, he assumed the worst. Had someone been following him? Had something caught up to him? He whipped around, ready to punch someone in the face, but upon seeing the pretty stranger, his fear melted.

“Were you staring at me?” the man asked, and laughed nervously.

That  _ laugh _ . Gerry didn’t know how to describe it, but it was enthralling. It fit the stranger perfectly, like it was just another feature on his face. It was like the cherry on the cake. “I’m Gerry,” he said, ignoring the question.

The man gave him a puzzled look, and repeated the question. “I’m sorry, were you staring at me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I was,” Gerry said sheepishly. “Don’t mind me, I just- you’re really…” Tall? Beautiful? Gorgeous? “Hard to miss.”  _ Stupid! _

“Oh,” the man said, laughing nervously again, and God, that laugh.

“I- I didn’t mean that. Like that. I meant you’re… attractive?” Gerry said, with a hint of a question in his voice.

“Here,” the man said, shoving a coin at Gerry, “5p. I’m Michael.” He had flushed beet red. Before he could ask if it was from the cold or from embarrassment, Michael had turned on his heel and walked out the door without coffee.

* * *

The third time Gerry met Michael, it was on the job.

Another day, another Leitner. There were books to burn, things to destroy. This particular book he was hunting down appeared to be connected to the Flesh, and he had heard tell of a recent purchase. He was just hoping that the grave would be fresh, or that the book would be in the person’s flat. He decided to check the latter, see if the book was left there, which he seriously doubted.

Whether it was a cosmic coincidence or a sick joke, he saw the man, Michael, standing outside the flat, buzzing different doorbells. He almost wanted to turn around (he didn’t need a run-in with the Institute), but the book was too important. He wasn’t even sure which level the flat was on, so watching him could be a good thing, he thought, rationalizing again. He made sure to keep a distance. When a man that fit the given description opened the door, he blanched. When the man gestured for Michael to come inside, Gerry broke into a sprint over to the door.

“Michael!” he called, almost tripping over his own boots. Michael turned around to look at Gerry, clearly confused. “Don’t forget me, your partner,” Gerry said, shooting a glare at the man who’d bought the book. Hesitatingly, the man let them both into the building, and Michael, though confused, went along with it.

The three of them walked up the stairs to his— Darren Miller’s— flat. Michael and Darren chatted as they walked, and Gerry learned some things. Not about Darren, really, but interesting nonetheless. One, Michael did not stop talking once you got him started. Two, Michael was not as much of a nerd as Gerry had previously assumed. He had heard of pop culture, which was shocking, considering how he dressed like a librarian from the ‘70s. Third was that apparently, Michael was into DIY. Go figure.

Darren’s flat was small, which for Gerry’s purposes was a good thing. Not a lot of places to hide a thick tome. There was a main living area which consisted of a screen, which Gerry assumed hid a bed, a sofa and a television. The floor was barren wood paneling, save for a carpet underneath the sofa and TV. The pattern wasn’t anything to write home about, just a floral design that matched the green wallpaper spread throughout the flat. There weren’t any book shelves or cabinets in the small room, so the book wasn’t hiding in plain sight. There was a hallway on the far end of the room that led out of sight, and Gerry assumed that’s where the kitchen and bathroom would be. Michael sat down with the man on the small leather sofa in the main living area, and took out a small notebook and pen riddled with teeth marks. Darren gestured for Gerry to sit. “No thanks. I’m more of a standing type,” Gerry said with a forced smile. Darren nodded, and Michael began the interview.

Gerry started pacing the apartment while Darren was preoccupied, and started to notice an odd smell emanating from some room down the hall- assumedly the kitchen. “Can I use your bathroom?” he interrupted. Darren smiled warmly and pointed to a room down the hall.

The hall towards the bathroom was dimly lit with a single hanging light. The smell of flesh became considerably stronger as he walked towards the bathroom, and he noticed scratch marks on the walls and floor. Gerry elected to ignore the kitchen entirely when he heard the sound of shuffling in the bathroom. Gerry gingerly opened the bathroom door to see a flesh creature scratching pathetically at a window that looked like it had been boarded up. The thing noticed Gerry and jumped at him, opening a mouth as if to scream, but no sound came out. Gerry closed the door with a slam. He didn’t get a great look, but it was made of exposed muscles and bones, with eyes and teeth in unsettling places. It had multiple arms, but no legs, and you could see the long rotting fingernails, which must be what made the scratch marks on the wallpaper and floor.

“Is everything alright?” Darren called, that fake sweetness now blindingly obvious.

“Yeah,” Gerry called back, taking out a large switchblade. If he had to get his hands dirty, better do it quick, before Michael got himself hurt with his idle chatting. 

He opened the door again, and this time he was definitely ready for the creature that lunged at him. He took a wild swing with his knife and missed entirely as one of the thing’s arms grabbed Gerry’s waist and slammed him to the ground with a  _ thud _ he felt more than heard. Michael called out this time, “Are you sure you’re okay?” Gerry didn’t bother responding this time, shaking his head clear and plunging his knife deep into where he guessed the heart would be. He guessed wrong, and blood started squirting out of the thing’s… body mass. The thing tried to bite at him with a set of teeth, but only managed to rip off a shred of leather from his jacket. Gerry took another swing with his knife, and more blood squirted out. He wiped the blood out of his eyes, and took another stab at it, this time successfully managing to find its heart. The abomination went limp over Gerry’s body. Footsteps came from down the corridor, and Michael and Darren ran in to see Gerry lying on the floor with the thing made of meat on top of him, blood soaking into his already dark clothing.

“Are you okay?” Michael asked again, worried, kneeling down next to Gerry.

“‘M fine,” he mumbled, shrugging the flesh monster off of him. He struggled up from the ground, using Michael for support, and pointed the knife at Darren. “You’re next if you don’t hand over the book.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Darren answered flatly. “I gave the book away.”

“I know you have it, otherwise this thing wouldn’t be here. You made it.” Gerry started advancing down the hall.

“Gerry-” Michael warned, looking concerned.

“Give me the book.” Darren lunged at Gerry like a cornered animal, too desperately. Gerry easily sidestepped him and let him fall to the ground. “I’ll ask one more time. Give me the book.” 

Terrified for his life, Darren conceded. He took Gerry into the bathroom and reached under the sink, pulling out a book with a blue binding. Gerry snorted. Not the best place to hide a Leitner, but servants of the Flesh don’t need to be smart.

Gerry took the book and ripped it apart at the spine, taking out a matchbox and burning the halves. “Don’t try anything,” Gerry warned Darren as he turned and headed for the door, leaving the ashes on the bathroom tile.

As Gerry walked down the stairs to the ground level, Michael caught up to him, and they walked together in total silence. When they got outside, Gerry took out a cigarette, fumbled with the lighter for a moment before lighting it, and began smoking. Michael took a deep breath. “So...coincidence, huh?”

Gerry laughed, almost dropping his cigarette. “Yeah, I saw you worked for the Institute, just figured I wouldn’t run into you ever again.”

“I meant… well,” he laughed nervously, and again, Gerry’s insides just  _ melted _ at that laugh, “The cute coffee shop boy knows about the weird and unusual things I do for a living.” He laughed again, and Gerry couldn’t help but smile.

When they parted ways as the sun went down, Gerry left with a face sore from smiling.

* * *

The fourth time Gerry met Michael, it was at Michael’s job.

It was more of a run-in, really. After Gertrude had helped him be rid of his mother, his opinion of the Institute, or at least of the Archivist, had changed. Gertrude and him became pretty buddy-buddy, and he began to visit her often, bringing her Leitners and going on the occasional excursion with her. Gerry was visiting Gertrude at the Institute, and she was busy recording a statement, as was often the case. So he found himself in the break room, where he stuck out like a sore thumb with his leather jacket and fishnet tights. Other employees came and went, staring at Gerry as he sat there, drinking a cup of tea, slowly and deliberately, checking his phone on the shitty Institute wifi. Fucking Bouchard couldn’t afford a better bandwidth?

When Michael walked in, hair even longer than the last time he’d seen him, tied up in a lazy bun, he was holding some heavy looking book that Gerry didn’t catch the title of. Michael headed straight for the coffee maker before doing a double take, and turned to greet the goth with his feet up on the table.

“It’s not polite to put your feet on the furniture,” Michael said, with a coy smile.

“Aren’t you going to say hi?” Gerry said, taking his feet off the table and standing to greet him. “So you really do work here, and it’s not some elaborate scheme?”

“Yup! Archival assistant and all that,” Michael said excitedly.

Gerry’s heart dropped into his stomach a bit, but he tried not to let it show. He knew what Gertrude was capable of now, and didn’t want to betray her trust. “How’s the benefits? You get a dental plan?” he joked, trying not to let his nerves show.

Michael laughed, and whatever worries Gerry had melted away. “I’ve been an assistant since 2007, and it’s been the most exciting job I’ve ever had.”

“Really? Working in a stuffy old building surrounded by piles of papers and books is exciting? I’ll pass, thanks.” Michael laughed again, and Gerry made up his mind. “Listen, tell Gertrude I’m gone for today. And when are you free this week?”

“Oh well, I do have the weekends off, why?” Gerry stared at him with a purposeful smile. “Oh.  _ Oh _ . Well, yes, right, does Saturday work? Around noon?”

“Same cafe?”

* * *

The fifth time Gerry met Michael, it was a date.

They both had coffees in hand, electing to walk through the winter streets instead of sitting inside. Michael was rambling about a button maker he had just bought and was planning on learning how to use, and Gerry was listening intently. It was cute the way Michael gestured while he talked and the passion with which he spoke about his hobbies. “I bought it on a whim, too! It was cheaper than I expected!”

“You’re beautiful,” Gerry blurted out.

“Well you’re not too bad looking, either, are you?” Michael said with a laugh.

“Can I kiss you?” Gerry managed to get out, fighting the anxious bubble in his chest. Michael smiled sheepishly, choked out a ‘yeah’, and the two slowly and awkwardly moved together.

There were no fireworks. It was not life changing, ground breaking or earth shaking. It was a kiss. But Michael’s lips were soft, and the way he bent over him gave him butterflies in his stomach. Gerry put a hand on Michael’s face and brushed a stray curly hair out of the way. He didn’t know how long they kissed, but when Gerry broke for air, he could feel the other’s smile against his own as they pressed their foreheads together. 

“How was that?” Michael asked.

“Wonderful.” Gerry smiled and pulled back. “Your breath tastes like coffee.”

Michael laughed, “So does yours.”

The two continued walking, finishing their coffees and holding onto the empty cups as they continued down towards Michael’s flat. The night sky was beautiful, in a way Gerry had never considered before. He had always preferred the sky in the countryside, with all its stars. But something in the air tonight made the moon look enchanting.

“It’s cliche, but this is me.” Michael smiled. “I would ask you to come in, but I’m leaving for work tomorrow.”

“It’s Sunday tomorrow,” Gerry frowned.

“I know, but Miss Robinson says it's important,” Michael said, with a small proud smile.

Gerry’s stomach began doing  _ somersaults _ . Gertrude taking Michael on an urgent trip on a Sunday didn’t sound good. It sounded deadly. “Where to? Why?” Gerry said, more harshly than he meant.

“Russia, research, why?” Michael replied, frowning.

“Where in Russia?” Gerry pressed.

“Zemlya Sannikova,” Michael said, slightly annoyed. “Look, Gerry, it’s Miss Robinson. She wouldn’t put me in harm’s way.” Gerry wanted to say something, but the words died in his throat. Something about the name bothered him, but he couldn't put a finger on it. “I’ll see you on Monday, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Gerry said as Michael bent down to kiss his cheek and headed inside.

When Gerry got home he looked up Zemlya Sannikova. He was not happy with the result.

* * *

The sixth time Gerry met Michael, he wasn’t.

Gerry knew something had happened to Michael in Sannikov Land, and they had buried an empty grave. Gerry had been there. They lowered the grave into the ground, but Gerry knew that whatever was in there was not Michael's body, and he knew Gertrude knew that, too. He tried hard to not be too broken up about it. He tried really very hard.

By late 2014 there was no denying that there was something very wrong with Gerry’s brain. He was seeing things that weren’t there and having seizures; he knew he wasn’t going to be able to keep up the charade of doing O.K. for very much longer. Gertrude knew this, too, and the two danced around the subject without ever touching upon it. He still spent time at the Institute, as there would always be work to do. But he knew he was always one bad day away from death.

When the door appeared, Gerry hadn’t given it a second thought. It was oak with a brass handle, and certainly didn’t belong in the Archives. And when the thing that called itself Michael stepped through it, Gerry didn’t know what to think.

It looked like a funhouse mirror, and spoke like one, too. This was not his Michael. Even if it sounded like him, and looked like him (if you squinted), it wasn’t. It laughed as it spoke circles around Gerry, spinning strange metaphors and ponderings. Its laugh sounded like if you came home and the door was left ajar. It was still home, but something wasn’t right. And as it disappeared through the door that was not there a moment before, Gerry felt a pang in his heart that he couldn’t describe nor place.

Either it was a cosmic coincidence or some kind of sick joke.

**Author's Note:**

> First two encounters are 2009, third is 2010, fourth and fifth are 2011. There's really only a slight canon divergence in that Gerry is mentioned to meet Gertrude sometime in 2012, but I took some liberties. It's self indulgent, what do you want. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
